in her gut. “And when will you be arriving?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Jayne said. “Around ten.”
The ball of joy grew larger still. “Okay, bear with me one moment while I log you in.”
A little giddy with excitement, Emily placed her cell on hold and rushed over to the computer at the reception desk, where she logged into the room-booking program and entered Jayne’s details. She felt proud of herself for having technically filled up the B&B every day since it had opened, even if it only had one room to fill, and had only opened two days ago…
She rushed back to her cell and picked it up. “Okay, you’re all booked in for one week.”
“Very good,” Jayne said. “You sounded very professional.”
“Thanks,” Emily replied shyly. “I’m still coming to grips with it all. My last guest was a disaster.”
“You can tell me all about it tomorrow,” Jayne said. “I’d better go. I’m starting my tenth mile so I need to save my breath. See you tomorrow?”
“I can’t wait,” Emily replied.
The call ended and Emily smiled to herself. She hadn’t realized just how much she missed her old friend until she’d spoken to her. Seeing Jayne tomorrow would be a wonderful antidote to the disaster that had been Mr. Kapowski.
CHAPTER FIVE
Exhausted from her long, disastrous morning, Emily found herself sinking into unhappiness. Everywhere she looked she saw problems and mistakes; a messily painted wall, a poorly affixed light, an ill-fitting piece of furniture. Before, she’d seen them as quirks, but now they bothered her.
She knew she needed some professional help and advice. She was in way over her head, thinking she could just run a B&B.
She decided to call Cynthia, the bookstore owner who had once managed a B&B in her youth, to ask for advice.
“Emily,” Cynthia said when she picked up the call. “How are you, my dear?”
“Awful,” Emily said. “I’m having the worst day.”
“But it’s only seven thirty!” Cynthia cried. “How bad can it be really?”
“Really, really bad,” Emily replied. “My first guest just left. I missed serving him breakfast on the first day, then on the second day I didn’t have enough ingredients and he said the food was cold. He didn’t like the pillows or the towels. I don’t know what to do. Can you help?”
“I’ll be right over,” Cynthia said, sounding thrilled at the prospect of imparting some wisdom.
Emily went outside to wait for Cynthia and sat on the porch, hoping the sunshine might cheer her up, or, at the very least, the dose of vitamin D would. Her head felt so heavy she let it drop into her hands.
When she heard the sound of crunching gravel, she looked up to see Cynthia cycling toward her.
Cynthia’s rusty bike was a common and somewhat unforgettable sight around Sunset Harbor, mainly because the woman sitting atop it had frizzy dyed orange hair and wore bright and very uncoordinated outfits. To make things even more bizarre, Cynthia had recently affixed a wicker basket to the front of her bike in which she transported Storm, one of Mogsy’s puppies that she’d adopted. In many ways, Cynthia Jones was her very own tourist attraction.
Emily was glad to see her, though Cynthia’s large red polka-dotted summer hat hurt her weary eyes somewhat. She waved at her friend and waited for the woman to reach her.
They went inside and Cynthia wasted no time. As they ascended the stairs, Cynthia fired questions at Emily, about water pressure, about whether she was serving organic food and who her supplier was. By the time they reached the guest bedroom, Emily’s head was spinning.
She took Cynthia inside. The room, as far as Emily was concerned, was beautiful. There was a mezzanine area at one end where she’d put a comfy leather sofa so that guests could sit there and look out at the ocean view. The room was mainly white, but with blue accents, a sheepskin rug, and distressed pine furniture.
“This bed is too small,” Cynthia said immediately. “Standard double? Are you crazy? You need something grand and opulent. Something luxurious, beyond anything they’d be able to afford themselves. You’ve made this room look like a bedroom showroom.”
“I thought that was the point,” Emily said meekly.
“Absolutely not!” Cynthia cried. “You need it to look like a palace!” She paced around, touching the crumpled bed covers. “Too scratchy,” she said. “Your guests deserve to sleep in a bed that feels like silk against their skin.” She paced over to the window. “These drapes are far too dark.”
“Oh,” Emily said. “Anything else?”
“How many rooms do you have?”
“Well, this is the main one that’s ready. There are two more that just need some furnishings. Then there’s a ton more that I haven’t even managed to clear yet. And the whole third floor could be converted too.”
Cynthia nodded and tapped her chin. She seemed to be having some ideas, perhaps, Emily wondered, some grand plans for the B&B that would be impossible for her to achieve.
“Show me the dining room,” Cynthia commanded.
“Um…okay…”
They went downstairs and with every step Emily’s dread intensified. She was beginning to regret the decision of asking Cynthia for help. Where Mr. Kapowski had dented her fragile ego, Cynthia was shattering it to pieces with a sledgehammer.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Cynthia said, walking around the dining room.
“I thought you loved this room,” Emily said, perturbed. Cynthia had certainly enjoyed the five-course meal and cocktails – made and paid for by Emily, no less – the last time she’d been here.
“I do. For dinner parties!” Cynthia exclaimed. “But you need to make this a B&B dining room now, with small tables so the guests can eat alone. You can’t put them all on one big table like this!”
“I thought it would foster a sense of community,” Emily stammered defensively. “I was trying to do something different.”
“Darling,” Cynthia said, “don’t even go there. Not now. Maybe ten years down the line when you’re an established business with money to spare, then you can start experimenting. But now you have no choice but to make this the way your guests are expecting. You understand?”
Emily nodded glumly. She didn’t know if there was even going to be a ten years down the line. She’d only ever been thinking in the short term with the B&B and now it sounded like Cynthia wanted her to really invest in this place, turn it into something long term and sustainable. It was starting to sound expensive, and expensive was not something Emily could afford. Still, she listened patiently as Cynthia continued her critique.
“Don’t put lilies in here. It reminds people of funerals. And oh dear God, that will have to move.” Cynthia was looking out the window at the chicken coop. “Everyone loves a free-range egg but they certainly don’t love seeing the dirty little
